Alex ‘Hurricane’ Higgins dies aged 61 after a long battle with throat cancer.

He was found dead at his Belfast home after concerned friends failed to get in touch with him

Higgins was a true genius in every sense of the word and almost single-handedly transformed the game of snooker into what it has become today, inspiring a generation to pick up a cue. His crowd-pleasing play blew fresh air into a stuffy game and his authority-bucking antics gave snooker an edge that catapulted it into mainstream television.

Sadly, the demons that made him a star also destroyed him as a player and alcoholism led to his downfall. Ultimately he went too far, punching match officials and threatening to have an opponent, Dennis Taylor, shot.

By then snooker was an established mainstream television event and Higgins fell into the shadows, pushed aside by the game he had made great.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as disappointed in anyone in my life as I was on Sunday when I read the News of the World’s expose of the snooker match fixing scandal involving John Higgins, the World Number 1.

I mean, John Higgins, the Snooker World Number 1, offering to throw snooker matches in return for cash (300,000 euros) – how much worse can it get than the Number 1 offering to rig matches?

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In his defence, Higgins says he was concerned because he thought he was facing the Russian mafia or some other similar outfit and therefore elected to simply play along until he could get himself safely out of the situation.

Had Higgins and / or his agent, Pat Mooney, at the time a board member of the World Professional Billiards & Snooker Association (WPBSA) although forced to resign after the scandal broke, reported the ‘Russian mafia’ meeting to the appropriate snooker authorities upon their return to the UK, I would believe them 100%, I really would, and I would be celebrating their honesty and integrity.

As it was, they didn’t report anything untoward had happened which really throws tremendous doubt on their version of events and instead makes your average punter, of which I’m one, believe that the News of the World video pretty much tells the whole story – they were conspiring to rig snooker match results for money.

Geeze, what a yawning bore-fest the final was. Disappointing drivel from start to finish, whenever that was since I gave up watching at 12.30 am.

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Which is a real shame since I watched the entire competition and had seen both of these players thumping one fantastic shot after another into the pockets as they worked their way towards the final. I kept hoping they would turn on the fluency and skill that had gotten them there but in the end I was to be disappointed as they both looked and played like two club players whose lifetime highest breaks were about 50.

It’s obvious what the problem was – both players were so intent on winning that they changed their game, slowing themselves down for each shot instead of just playing their own games, the ones that had got them to the final in the first place. Complete crap.

Ronnie O’Sullivan said he walked out of the UK Championship in York after having a ‘bad day in the office’.

The 31-year-old conceded his quarter-final match against Stephen Hendry in mid-frame when he was 4-1 down.

O’Sullivan released a statement after the walk-out which read: “I wish I could have played a better game today, but I had a bad day in the office.

Snooker is in crisis. Falling prize money and the sport’s only real star decides he’s had enough and walks out of the UK tournament mid-match.
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Personally, I don’t blame him for walking out. Playing Stephen Hendry would bore anyone to tears. The guy has about as much charisma as a white ball and is utter tedium to watch, even when he wins.

The robots are ruining the game!

I hark back to the days when Alex Higgins was having his tantrums and bucking the authority that was the game’s governing body. He would try (and often succeed) to play outrageous shots, thrilling the crowd with his antics and genius. When he wasn’t on the table he would often as not get into some drunken escapade where he would end up pissing in a pot plant at the venue or have to be peeled off the floor of some bar after getting into a scrape. He was entertaining.

Ronnie O’Sullivan, too, is entertaining. Perhaps not in the same way but anyone who is naturally right-handed and decides to play an entire match left-handed (and wins) is obviously taking the piss and he is adored precisely because of this. He is also a genius at the table.

Now all we have left are the robots. The machines who look like humans (mostly) who are unable or unwilling to even crack the odd one-liner. BORING!

The only entertainment left in the game is watching Michaela Tabb bending over the table and dreaming of the day when topless or bikini-clad women referees are introduced.